“No.”
The answer surprised him.
“Then how did you survive?”
The King looked at his hands.
“At first, because I wanted revenge.”
He paused.
“Later, because I wanted to know who you became.”
The Prince swallowed.
“And?”
The King smiled.
“Still investigating.”
The King died three years later.
Not in battle.
Not in a storm.
Not beneath heroic music.
His body had simply carried too much damage for too long.
The entire kingdom mourned.
The Prince was twenty-three.
Old enough to become King.
Young enough to be terrified.
On coronation morning, the palace servants brought him his father’s ceremonial armor.
He refused.
Instead, he wore a simple white tunic beneath a dark crimson cloak.
Then he entered the abandoned training courtyard.
The Old Archer was waiting.
Much older now.
His wounded knee had become worse.
The King’s bow lay on the stone bench.
The same leather wrapping.
The same golden thread.
The Prince picked it up.
“Still heavy.”
“You’re stronger.”
“Not enough.”
“No one ever is.”
The Prince looked toward him.
“Helpful.”
“I’m old. I can stop pretending.”
The Prince smiled.
Then became serious.
“Will I be good at this?”
“No idea.”
“Could lie.”
“You’ve had enough of that.”
The Prince nodded.
He carried the bow into the royal courtyard.
Thousands filled the galleries.
Bronze-armored guards stood in rows exactly as they had eleven years earlier.
The Captain, gray at the temples now, commanded them.
The Queen waited before the throne.
She had aged too.
But when her son approached, she looked exactly as he remembered from the day one arrow cracked open the bronze sun.
The repaired ornament hung above her.
A visible golden line marked the fracture.
The architects had offered to replace it.
The Queen refused.
“Some repairs should remain visible.”
The Prince climbed the steps.
A priest approached with the crown.
The Prince stopped him.
“Wait.”
Murmurs spread.
The Queen raised one eyebrow.
That expression had not aged at all.
The Prince turned toward the assembled kingdom.
Eleven years earlier, he had stood in the same courtyard as a frightened child holding a weapon too large for him.
The Regent had called him a child.
The guards had surrounded him.
His mother had ordered him to put down the arrow.
He had fired anyway.
That arrow had revealed a seal.
The seal revealed a return.
The return revealed betrayal.
The betrayal led across the sea.
And the sea brought his father home.
Now everyone expected a speech.
The Prince looked toward the Captain.
“Do you remember shoving me?”
The Captain closed his eyes.
Laughter moved through the courtyard.
The Queen sighed.
“You are discussing this now?”
The Prince smiled.
“He kicked my bow too.”
The Captain called back, “There was an assassin.”
“Convenient excuse.”
More laughter.